A smooth-faced boy, a harmless thing,
A kitten playing with a string,
A child without, a brute within,
Without e’en energy to sin.
Not thus, when erst that iron race
From whom our birth we proudly trace,
No sculptured arras decked the bed
Whereon reposed the patriot’s head;
Nor proud device or motto wore
Those stern-faced men that lived of yore